Guess How Much I Love You

Half-asleep-half-awake-dreaming, I waited patiently for the light to turn yellow so I could safely cross two lanes of traffic.

Yellow came and I eased up on the brake, rolling forward softly. A rocket of light and metal and sound shot by.

Slamming on the brakes, my whole body went rigid and vibrated toenails to split ends, as someone ran the very much red at over 80km/h in the inside lane.

He would have hit, dead-on, the exact spot where my two-year old was sitting, happily humming.

But for the eternity of a second, and automatic caution ingrained even in dreams, unending horror would have begun, at 2 o’clock on a drowsy Sunday afternoon.

Being a parent is the most frightening thing there is.

It is the most frightening thing there is.

My life, if untimely snuffed or unrecognizably altered, I give, freely and gladly, to the gods of chance and happenstance. My son’s? There is no justifying. There is no comprehension. There is no reasoning.

I have faced many things in my life – demons inside and out. Never have I known fear like this. And I have only instinct, peripheral vision, muscle memory, a heart that now without a doubt loves my child all the way to my toes, and every blessed thing to the moon and back to thank.

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1 comment so far

  1. Kathleen on

    “And every blessed thing from the moon and back to thank.”
    Exactly!
    It is amazing to me how that much terror can be mixed up with that much love. Sensational.
    Thanking all the stars beyond, as well.
    Kath


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